


By the Wayside

by Dragonie



Series: Rain in the Desert [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Flagrant Abuse of the Semicolon, Flashback, Friendship, Post-Game(s), Pre-Canon, Pre-Game(s), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 07:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonie/pseuds/Dragonie
Summary: Long before the Platinum Chip, before the war in the Mojave, before the package from Navarro, the Courier has a chance encounter in a wayside bar.(Set pre-game and in between chapters of "At the End of the Road"; Ulysses/F!Courier pre-relationship)





	By the Wayside

                Rufus’s Place was a beat-up little pit-stop bar on the eastern frontiers of the NCR, along the old 127, just off the I-15. It’d had a name, once, before the bombs hit, but a couple centuries of dust storms had worn off the paint too much to read it. The outline of a grinning cowboy jutted from the roof, most of his fluorescent tubes smashed and grey, a scant few lines of neon remaining. Successive owners had given the inn their own names, but Rufus was never the type to bother with unnecessary details. The bar was packed tonight, unusually so; Velasquez said that the military’d been ordering a lot of supplies into the Mojave, had some kind of assault planned. First Jane had heard of it, but then, she was used to being out of the loop. Price of spending most of your time alone on the road, she guessed. The saloon stank of stale sweat, old beer, and cigarette smoke, but the company was good, and besides, Rufus knew everyone in the business and always had good tip-offs for a job.

                From her stool at the bar, Velasquez gestured to Rufus for a drink with her one remaining arm. She didn’t have to specify the order; she’d been drinking here since long before Rufus ever took over the place. The veteran caravan guard turned her weather-beaten face to Jane and took a drag from her cigarette.

                “Heard you made another run to the Divide.” She didn’t look impressed, but then again, Velasquez’s face never seemed to shift from its perpetual frown. Local legend had it that she hasn’t smiled since 2253, when she saw a Raider get his dick bit off by a coyote. It probably wasn’t true. _Probably_.

                Rufus slid a neat whiskey down the bar, and went back to “polishing” a glass with a rag that might have been clean once, in another century. Velasquez tapped the ash off her cigarette onto the bar and picked up her drink.

                “Yeah,” Jane replied, tugging at her collar in the stuffy air – the windows had all long since been broken and boarded up – as she nursed her sarsaparilla. Mikey had teased her for drinking soda at a bar, but Jane had always preferred to keep a clear head in case trouble broke out. Caravaneers could be a rough crowd. “Little town down that way, someone there wantin’ parts to fix a generator. Just got back from there, matter of fact.”

                Velasquez snorted.

                “Can’t imagine livin’ in a shithole like that. Hell, you’re the only courier I know crazy enough to even make the trip.”

               “Aw, it ain’t so bad,” Jane said mildly, and took a swig of her drink. “Good people, there. Just ain’t much money in it. You’d get a lot more goin’ that way if the caps were better.” She thought for a moment, and frowned. “Well, that and the Deathclaws,” she conceded.

                “Hey Jane,” Mikey chimed in. She’d changed her hair colour again, Jane noted. Mikey was a young caravan guard, still kinda fresh-faced, and stuck to Velasquez like a burr. She had two full sleeves of brightly-coloured tattoos and a smiley-face patch sewn onto her leathers. “Don’t look now, but that guy over there’s lookin’ at you.”

                “Which guy?” Jane turned in her seat to peer back over her shoulder, and Mikey slapped her leg, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

                “Told ya not to look!” she chided, in a hiss that was wholly unnecessary in the noisy bar. Velasquez snorted again, and drained her glass in one gulp. “Feller sittin’ by himself, over there in the corner,” Mikey continued. “Kinda intense-lookin’.” She jerked her head.

                Jane looked – surreptitiously, so as not to draw Mikey's wrath – and sure enough, the solitary man was glancing her way. Despite her attempt at stealth, he seemed to notice her gaze, and quickly turned his attentions back to his book.

                The loner type, perhaps, she thought; not unusual on these toads. The book was a bit different, though; most Brahmin drivers didn’t put too much stock in reading outside of trade manifests and job offers; had little interest for anything that couldn’t be learned on the trail. The man was not unattractive, although he had a rather melancholy look about him. There were curious lines on his arms – tattoos, or tribal scars, maybe; she couldn’t make out from this distance – and, from this angle, she could just make out part of what looked like the mark of the Old World flag on the back of his jacket. An unusual symbol, here in the desert, thought it became more common if you headed west and hit the old military bases: Navarro, and the like. Rare to see someone wearing it, though; no (current) wasteland faction that she knew of took the stars and stripes as a standard. She’d heard Enclave used it, back when, alongside new symbols of their own making, but no Enclave remnant’d be foolish enough to bear his old colours this close to NCR territory. But there _was_ an old base in the Divide, and Jane dimly remembered seeing those stars on display there; something about them was comfortably familiar.

                Velasquez must have noticed this idiosyncrasy too. She took a long drag on her cigarette.

                “Now that’s a rare thing. Hope for his sake that flag’s just a case a’ Old World Blues, and not some kinda Enclave bullshit. ‘Cause if it is, I know a lot of folks back home’d be linin’ up fer a shot at him.”

                Mikey gazed at Velasquez in something approaching awe. Velasquez was old enough to remember fearing the sight of vertibirds in the sky. She’d seen things most of them had only heard in stories, but was frustratingly uninterested in telling her own.

                “He ain’t tall enough to be Enclave, surely?” Mikey peered at the strange man suspiciously. “Heard tell Enclave were some kinda giants from the Old World.”

                “Someone’s been fillin’ yer head with tall tales, girl,” Velasquez snorted once more.

                “Lord above,” Rufus cut in with a laugh, still polishing the same grimy glass. Jane was beginning to suspect he only did it for the look of the thing. “Giants, y’heard? You young’uns come up with all kindsa stories, I swear.” He and Velasquez shared a wry look.

                “‘S’what I like about you, Rufus,” Velasquez smirked. “Always know just when a lady’s glass is empty.” She held out her glass and Rufus refilled it with a chuckle.

                Jane grinned.

                “That’s ‘cause you drain it the minute he brings it to you, Vel.”

                “Don’t know how many times I done told ya, girl, not to call me that.”

                “Was a very reliable source, told me ‘bout it,” huffed Mikey.

                “If this ‘reliable source’ of yers is Ol’ Jeb down in Redding, girl, he ain’t never seen an Enclave soldier in his life; ‘least, not one he didn’t dream up while Jettin’, just so’s ya know. He jes’ likes to spin stories for starry-eyed youngin’s like yerself.”

                Mikey’s eyes widened.

                “Jeez, Vel, ya really do know everyone, don’tcha?”

                “Shit, not you, too.” Velasquez rolled her eyes. “This is your doin’, Janey-girl.” Jane doffed her hat playfully in response. Velasquez leaned back, the ancient barstool squeaking beneath her, stuffing poking out in tufts from behind frayed stitching that no one had bothered to fix. “Doubt he’s Enclave, though. Too young t’be one of the old boys, plus them stick-up-their-asses wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. Eh, no offence, Rufus.”

                “None taken,” the barman said mildly. “Lotta NCR folks in here; Enclave got caught here they _would_ be dead.” There was an edge to his words, beneath the smile. Rufus, too, was old enough to remember those dark days.

                “If he ain’t Enclave,” Jane mused. “Then who is he, and why’s he givin’ me the beady-eye?” She chanced another glance at the mysterious man. He seemed engrossed in his book, barely touching his Brahmin steak, but she saw his eyes flick quickly in her direction, and just as quickly away. “What’s he want from me?”

                Velasquez snorted; something of a habit of hers, really.

                “Th’ hell do any of ‘em bastards ever want from a woman?”

                Mikey tittered. Jane felt her cheeks burn.

                “Janey’s got a gennleman caller!” laughed Mikey, bright-eyed. “Whatcha gonna do, Janey? He ain’t too hard on the eyes; reckon ya gonna go for it?” She twisted in her seat to get a better look at the stranger, in complete defiance of her earlier push for discretion.

               “O-Oh? You reckon?” Jane was unexpectedly flustered. She’d spent a decent chunk of her life around the caravans, had brushed off more than one drunken proposition from a less-than-savoury caravan guard and endured some of the worst pick-up lines this side of the Colorado, but this guy seemed… different, somehow. He wasn’t putting all his attention into trying to find a gap in her shirt collar to stare down, for one thing… not yet, anyway. Mikey was right, too; he wasn’t bad-looking. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to go… talk to him, or something.

                Velasquez scowled, and held her glass out once more.

                “Gonna need more of this if ya start makin’ eyes at ‘im. Hey, Rufus!”

                Rufus ambled over from another group of customers and refilled Velasquez’s glass.

                “Do my ol’ ears deceive me, or did I hear somethin’ about our Janey gettin’ herself an admirer?” He grinned at her like a proud father. Rufus had always had a soft spot for her, and to be honest, Jane kinda liked it. Her own father was a long time in the ground, after all, thanks to the Legion.

                “Yeah, that guy in the corner!” Mikey leaned over the bar in her eagerness to share the gossip, a look of conspiratorial glee on her face. “He been stealin’ glances at Janey all night! Ya know him, Ruf? What’s he, prospector, Brahmin driver?”

                Rufus looked over at the stranger, and his craggy faced stiffened in an instant.

                “Somethin’ wrong, Rufus?” Jane frowned in confusion.

                “That one’s trouble, he is,” Rufus said darkly, his voice low. “Says he’s just an ordinary courier, but I hear different. Heard tell he’s one of Caesar’s boys; him an’ that flag of his been spotted consortin’ with them out east. Little bird told me.” He tapped his nose. “You better watch yourself around that one, Janey.” His expression was as serious as she’d ever seen it.

                “He’s _Legion_?” The incredulity in her voice mingled with anger. She stole another look at him. He didn’t _look_ Legion; no crimson and skirts in sight. She’d heard rumours of Caesar’s spies walking the waste, even in the guise of couriers, but…

                “Didn’t know you let that sorta scum drink in here.” Velasquez’s lip curled in disgust. “Thought this was a classier establishment’n that, Rufus.”

                “Ain’t like I want to,” Rufus replied ruefully. “But I hear things ‘bout what happens to thems as cross the Legion. Ain’t gonna go attractin’ their attention if I kin help it.”

                Jane was silent, knuckles tightening on her drink as she tried to will herself to stay calm. She felt sick. A legionary, right under her goddamn nose? And to think she’d nearly taken a _fancy_ to him, for chrissakes.

                “Don’t tell me he’s gonna try an’ collar her?” Mikey’s voice was high; she sounded close to panicking.

                “Not in my goddamn bar,” Rufus growled, eyes flashing. His hand crept below the counter, where he kept his gun. Far as Jane knew, he’d never had to shoot an actual patron yet, only the occasional ambitious raider or would-be mugger, but the threat of it had ended many a bar fight before things got _too_ ugly.

                “Stow it, y’all,” Velasquez said shortly. “If he’s one of ‘em Legions-in-disguise then he ain’t gonna be collarin’ nobody. Ain’t gonna give the game away like that.”

                “Guess you’re right.” Rufus relaxed his shoulders, drew his hand away from the weapon. “Still, don’t rightly like it if a Legion boy is sizin’ up our Jane.”

                “Makes two of us, Rufus.” Jane’s heart was starting to beat a more normal pace, now, eyes flicking to her rifle resting on the bar. Normally, she wouldn’t have hesitated in the face of Legion, but then, normally, her enemies wore their colours openly. She was still having a hard time believing that the man over there _was_ Legion; he didn’t _feel_ like the rest of ‘em, but then again, maybe he was just a really good spy. What did they call ‘em, again? Frumentius, or something?

                “Ya know,” Mikey mused, still looking worried. “If he’s some kinda spy, maybe he’s spyin’ on Jane? She done killed a fair few of 'em shitheads in her day; maybe someone out east is takin’ notice.” It was not a comforting thought.

                “Mikey!” Rufus hissed, nodding from her to Jane’s taut face. Mikey’s mouth opened wide.

                “Hell, sorry, Janey, me an’ my big mouth.”

                “‘S all right, Mikey.” Jane offered up a weak smile.

                Rufus set the glass and whiskey bottle down on the bar, and reached over, gripping Jane’s shoulder comfortingly with a callused hand.

                “Now, don’t you worry, girl.” He looked her in the eyes. “Ain’t no harm gonna come t’ya here; not in my goddamn bar, it ain’t. He probably ain’t here for you, no how; just makin’ eyes at a pretty lady.”

                “Yeah, pay no mind to Mikey,” Velasquez concurred. “Hear NCR’s headin’ into the Mojave; probably here to check up on that. If NCR keeps goin’ east an’ Legion keeps goin’ west, they’re gonna bump into each other sooner or later.” She took a swig. “Here’s hopin’ our boys kill each an’ every one of those skirt-wearin’ assholes.”

                “I’ll drink to that,” Jane said grimly.

                “Yeah, don’t mind me, Janey,” Mikey said hurriedly, wrapping a tattooed arm around Jane’s back. “I was jes’ speculaterin’, is all. Them Legion perverts keep their wimmin in chains, I hear; guess they don’t even know how to chat up a girl at a bar.”

                “Don’t you three go for yer guns or nothin’, mind, ‘less he makes a move first,” warned Rufus. “If this feller’s Caesar’s eyes or the like, safest thing to do’d be stay outta his way. Don’t go attractin’ no undue attention.” He paused. “Plus, seein’ as how he ain’t wearin’ the crimson, you shootin’ him in the middle of this bar’d cause a riot, an’ no mistake.”

                “Still think it’d be worth it, Rufus,” Velasquez drained her glass and clunked it back down on the bar, wiping her mouth. “But you’re the boss of this place.”

                “We’ll stay outta trouble, Ruf.” Mikey nodded.

                The two of them turned to Jane, who shrugged.

                “Don’t look at me like that. Even I ain’t crazy enough to shoot a man dead in the middle of a crowded bar. Just ain’t right, though, Legion walkin’ around lookin’ like normal folk. Prefer ‘em when they dress up special, make it easy for me.”

                “‘Attagirl,” Rufus smiled. “You don’t bother yerself with that there feller. If he wants to get in bed with that lot, that’s his lookout. Don’t go puttin’ yerself in the line of fire fer the likes of him.”

 

                —

 

                “Barman said that?” Ulysses sounded almost amused, beside her. Perhaps he enjoyed the irony; they put themselves in the line of fire for each other often, throughout their explorations of the Divide, fighting Marked Men and Deathclaws side-by-side.

                They sat in their usual spot, up on the cliffs, watching Hopeville fires burn below.

                “Sure did,” Jane grinned, her weight resting on one hand, long legs sprawled out in front of her. Ulysses sat close next to her (but not as close as she would’ve liked him). “Don’t think he woulda expected it to turn out like this.” She laughed, gestured to the two of them. “Don’t think any of us woulda, tell the truth. Can’t believe I forgot about it; maybe that bullet of Benny’s did a number on my brains after all. ‘Course, I been busy since then. Still right when I said we never talked, though.”

                She shifted her weight, leaning a smidgeon closer to him. He watched her; if he noticed the move was deliberate, he made no sign of it.

                “Come to think of it,” she continued. “I was on the way back from another Divide run, that time. Guessin’ that’s why you kept lookin’ at me back then, huh? Knew I’d been walkin’ that road?” Her tone was mostly light, but there was a faint note of regret, lurking in the background. Hard to look back on that time with ease, knowing all that’d come to pass since.

                (Well, all right. Maybe there was also a teensy bit of disappointment that he hadn’t, in fact, been checking her out. Just a smidge.)

                Ulysses nodded.

                “Followed your tracks back out of the canyon, through the sands and winds. Wanted to see for myself the one courier who would brave that road, bring life to the Divide. Curiosity, not Caesar’s orders.”

                “Huh. All right, well,” Jane took of her hat, smoothed down a few strands of hair, grimaced in guilt at the ‘bringing life’ part. Still, she didn’t reckon Ulysses meant it as a jab; he’d been much more… direct with his condemnation, in the past. “That’s actually a lot better’n what Vel an’ Mikey were thinkin’.” She was silent for a bit, drumming her fingers on the dusty ground as she chewed the words over inside her head. Ulysses’ gaze was steady, waiting patiently for her next thought.

                “Can’t stop thinkin’, since then,” she said finally. “What if I’d done it different, back then? Gone over an’ tried to talk to you, before Rufus warned me off? Would any of this–” she gestured vaguely at him, and at the ruins below. “ –be different? You never wonder about what mighta been?”

                “Would’ve tried to kill me, no doubt; found out I was Legion sooner or later.”  She peered at him. Something in his tone gave her pause. Hard to tell, with him, but it felt like he was ribbing her.

                “Eh, maybe,” Jane shrugged a bony shoulder sheepishly. “Heh. Don’t think I don’t notice what you mean by ‘ _tried_ ’, though, man. I’da kicked your ass from here to Two Sun, and you know it. She shot him a grin positively oozing with bravado. He snorted.

                “Believe that, if it brings you comfort.” There it was again, that subtle trace of amusement in his tone. A symbol of how far their relationship had progressed, she thought, that the thought of a fight between them could be a joke instead of a terrifying near-miss.

                Maybe it was just her imagination, but his shoulders seemed just a tad less tense, these days, at least when she came to visit. Might be the closest he’d ever come to _relaxing_ since Legion took Twisted Hairs.

                “Barman took a risk, warning you of me,” Ulysses gave Jane a long glance. “Friend of yours, Courier? Had to mean something, to risk the Bull’s fury; wouldn’t do it for just any customer.”

                “Heh, yeah, Ol’ Rufus always had my back.” Jane smiled in fond, far-off remembrance. “He had a soft spot for me, I reckon. Had a daughter woulda been my age, only she strayed too far when playin’ one day and got taken by a radscorp. Took over the bar after that. Used to drop round all the time to catch up with him; always picked up the best gossip and trail stories.” Her smiled turned bitter as dark clouds began to roll in among the rosy memories. “Reminded me a bit of my father, back before Bull came to Twin Mothers.”

                ‘Bull?’ Christ, she was spending too much time with him. She’d start speaking in nothing but metaphors, if she wasn’t careful.

                Ulysses was silent, which suited her fine just now. Perhaps he felt some guilt for the Legion’s actions, perhaps he just had the sense not to try making excuses for them; either way, it showed some consideration for her feelings, which was a good sign, all things considered.

                Speaking of good signs, he’d been getting more curious about her past as of late, asking more questions, more personal things; it’d been such a discussion that brought this particular memory rushing back. He hadn’t asked, back when she first walked this road; he’d thought he already _knew_. Questions made her hopeful; proof, perhaps, that he was coming to see her in a new light.

                “But not home enough, to keep you there,” he said finally. Jane gave him a wry look. Lost tribes, the search for a new home… things they had in common, things that had become very important to this strange new… friendship?… of theirs. The thought that he, too, might want to explore these commonalities made her pulse quicken in a nice kinda way.

                She wondered it he’d had anyone he cared about, back during his Legion days. It seemed unlikely; he hardly mentioned individual people at all, and never his relationship to them.

                “Wouldn’t matter if it was,” She replied sadly. Ulysses turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised, a fraction, in curiosity. “Near twenty years spent fightin’ off bandits and some of the roughest folks in the wastes, and in the end he gets shanked by some Jethead over a bar tab. I tell ya, Ulysses, it ain’t fair.”

                “Was never _fair_ , Courier.” His tone was weary, rather than upbraiding; it was a fact he knew too damn well himself, she reckoned. “Wasteland’s not known for its mercy.”

                “You’re tellin’ me,” Jane sighed. She stared out at Hopeville, at the fires, the twisted wreckage; some of it a legacy from the War, but some of it wrought by her unknowing hands. “Were good people, here,” she said, finally. “Can understand why they meant that much to you. I know ‘sorry’ don’t exactly cut it, but…”

                She reached out, laid a commiserating hand on his shoulder before she could think better of it. He flinched, head whipping round to stare at her, before she felt the tension in his muscles relax, just a fraction, beneath her hand. Been a long time since he had friendly touches, she guessed; might be a long time before he got used to them again. He still looked at her in… surprise? Uncertainty?… not expecting her sympathy, or her friendly gesture. His skin was hot where it touched her fingers. He didn’t draw away, though, which she took for an encouraging sign.

                He held her gaze for some time, as if trying to read her motives, before giving her a brief nod of acknowledgement. He didn’t brush off her hand. She gave his shoulder a companionable squeeze, and joined him in his silence.

 

                —

 

                It was still night when the courier left the inn. Stars were bright overhead, easy to navigate by; no Vegas lights to dull the sky. Some feared to travel the Mojave by night, spoke of raiders and beasts prowling the darkness, preferred to brave the burning heat than risk that. The courier was not one of them.

                Little enough time to waste; would have tried Vulpes’ patience enough with the detour, anyway, but had to see for himself, see what kind of woman could single-handedly keep a nation like the Divide alive. The courier – _the_ Courier, as he’d come to think of her, through all the rumours and half-gone trails he'd followed – had been younger than he’d expected (although, truthfully, he wasn’t sure quite _what_ he expected); seemed less careworn; full of life, at the bar, until her conversation turned serious. Hushed words, and glances at him; had noticed his attentions, perhaps, might suspect some motive in him other than curiosity. Had nothing to fear from _him_ , though. Had no intention of causing her harm – wouldn’t have, even without his promise to Caesar – driven only by the burning desire to know who this courier was, who gave life to the Divide, who birthed nations in her wake. (Might be a kindred spirit, part of him thought (hoped?); called Divide home too, perhaps. Made a place that spoke to his soul like no other; maybe she herself would do the same.)

                Sound of footsteps – slow, but purposeful, not trying to hide – brought him back into the moment. He turned, saw, to his surprise, the old barman approaching, a double-barreled shotgun cradled in his wiry arms, his mouth a hard line.

                Surprise didn’t show on Ulysses’ face, though; spent much too long hiding emotions as a Frumentarius, as a legionary, to let it. Watched the barman, and the barman watched back, no move to attack, no sign of wavering. Held Ulysses’ gaze, but not fool enough to try a staring contest. (Would’ve lost, if he had.)

                Finally, Ulysses spoke.

                “Not some raider or drunken merchant meaning to fight. Have no reason to draw a weapon on me.”

                Better to try and calm the man, if he could. From this distance, could get off a round even if he was a slow draw; little chance of missing, before Old Glory caved his skull in. Survive that, and the sound of the shot would bring curious eyes, maybe friends of the bartender; fight would be more trouble than it was worth.

                Bartender didn’t react to his words.

                “Seen you makin’ eyes at Janey-girl,” he said, edge in his voice belying the casual words.

                _That_ gave Ulysses pause. Barman had seemed friendly with the Courier, true enough. Didn’t know about the Divide, had mistaken his intentions, thought him some dim-witted drover ogling women at the bar, no doubt. Bristled, a bit, at the assumption.

                Barman’s actions were strange, though, more like a protective father… a jealous lover? No, way they interacted back at the bar didn’t favour that; idea was unlikely enough in the first place.

                “Don’t need to guard her from me, whatever she is to you.” Could’ve explained himself, didn’t. The Divide, what it meant to him, what _she’d_ done for him… truth wasn’t for a stranger’s ears.

                Bartender scowled below his wiry moustache.

                “Don’t believe _that_ fer a second.” Eyes narrowed as he looked at Ulysses. “She’s a good kid. She don’t need no Legion boys sniffin’ around, y’hear?”

                A pause. Not as Ulysses expected; barman’s sources must be better than he thought, to know which flag he followed. In the old days, would’ve found that worth investigating. Now? Couldn’t seem to care.

                Ulysses met the barman’s eyes. Strength in them, for all the lines at their corners. Cared enough about the Courier to stare down the Bull for her… woman built the Divide, didn’t touch the world lightly… not surprising, that she would command such loyalty from the people in her wake. Found his curiosity flared, rather than sated, by the encounter. One day, might even speak with her; felt as if he understood her already.

                He nodded vaguely.

                “Won’t bring her harm… nothing to fear from me.”

                The older man held the shotgun steady, sized him up for a few seconds, passed like eternity.

                “Go on, then,” he said, voice like he was making some great concession. “Git!” Gestured with his weapon, punctuating the sentence.

                Ulysses did not bother with further conversation. He turned back to the darkened sands, and headed East.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This was an idea that's been floating around in my head for a while, and I wanted to try writing it down; it also gave me chance to write about some of the background characters I invented for Jane's story and grew quite fond of. I had a blast writing them, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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